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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Shelf...H.J.5 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



POEMS 



BY 




HATTIE HOWARD 



' It sounds like stories from the land of spirits, 
If any one obtain that which he merits, 
Or any merit that which he obtains." 

— Coleridge. 




HARTFORD, CONN. 
1886. V 



Y5 ^° [A " 



Copyright, 1886, 
By HATTIE HOWARD. 



Press of The Case, Lockwood & Brainard Co.. Hartford. Conn. 



DEDICATION. 



These random rhymes were written solely for 
my own diversion, and with no thought of making 
a took. But at the earnest solicitations of those 
who profess to have been edified and amused by my 
fragmentary verses, I have collected them into this 
little volume, hoping that the dear friends who in 
the hour of need have proven friends "in deed," 
will accept, it in the same spirit of affectionate 
good-will with which it is hereby dedicated' to them 

BY THE AUTHOR. 



*fy d>orvtervfr§> 4*~ 











PAGE. 


September Song, ... .7 


Sympathy, .... 








9 


"The Melancholy Days," . 








10 


Thought Cannot Die, 








12 


The Old-fashioned House, 








14 


My Pictures, . 








15 


The Mission of the Flowers, 








18 


A Dream, 








19 


The Week of Prayer, 








21 


An Unknown Friend, 








23 


Trinity College, 








25 


Ax Episode, 








27 


Christmas, 








29 


Gratitude, 








31 


Song — A Merry Heart, 








32 


Waiting, 








33 


June, .... 








35 


Pomona's Gifts, 








36 


Who Cares, 








38 


Mysterious, 








39 


Tristesse, 








41 


TnE Land of Roses, 








43 


To One Afar, 








. 44 


Cast Down, 








. 46 


l* 











CONTENTS. 








PAGE. 


A June Idyl, ..... .40 


A Dream, .... 






. 49 


Good-bye to Dr. Sage, 






51 


Missed, ..... 






53 


At Half Mast, 






55 


Be Kind to the Aged, 






57 


October, .... 






58 


A Keepsake, .... 






60 


When Roses Bloom Again, 






61 


Indian Summer, 






63 


A Song, .... 






64 


The Church op the Good Shepherd, 






65 


To One Unknown, . 






68 


Watch Hill, .... 






70 


The Old Burying Ground, 






72 


An Underground Stream, . 






74 


Fannie, .... 






75 


Alone, ..... 






77 


Ode to Tennyson, 






78 


Apple Blossoms, 






80 


Pansies, .... 






82 


July, ..... 






84 


The Shepherds op Judea, . 






85 


The Smell of Grapes, 






89 


Midsummer, .... 






90 


An Episode of the Rink, . 






92 


Peaches, .... 






94 


My Dear Religious Paper, 






96 


A Difference of Opinion, . 






99 


"The Cup That Cheers," . 






101 


Helping the Poor, . 






104 


Crescent Beach, .... 






106 



4* <poem$ 4^ 



September ^ong. 

These beautiful clays of September 
For me have a wonderful charm, 

Because of the joys I remember 
Of old autumn-life on the farm. 

Was ever a spot more inviting 
To wayfarer weary and lone ? 

Where guests ever vied in requiting 
The manifold courtesies shown. 

Where industry rendered abundant 

Each annual gathering-in 
Of harvests, till rich and redundant 

Became every storehouse and bin. 

As benisons graciously given, 
That household I cannot forget 

Accepted the largess of heaven, 

And humbly acknowledged the debt. 



POEMS. 

Oil, earth has a million of places 
To tarry — but only one home ! 

And dear to my heart are the faces 
That haunt me wherever I roam. 

Among them is one of a brother, 
So ardent and loyal and brave ; 

In battle like many another, 

His life for his country he gave. 

A leader, collected and ready, 

'Mid tumult of cannon and shell — 

" < )n, comrades ! and keep the line steady ! " 
The words that he uttered — and fell. 

How meager appear the diversions 
That then could rusticity please ! 

The quilting-bees, lraskings, excursions 
In "pirogues" hewn out of the trees. 

A saucy -faced maiden of twenty, 
In home-made habiliments dressed, 

If parties and suitors were plenty, 
No higher ambition possessed. 

But under my eyelids are welling 
Sad tears for the dearest of earth, 

The promise and light of our dwelling — 
For this was the month of her birth. 



SYMPATHY. 

I am sure that so gentle a spirit, 
Embodying goodness and love — 

Her birthright — must also inherit 
A place in the " mansions above." 

Before me in exquisite vision 

Are scenes that enchanted me then. 

And in this September Elysian 
The past I live over again. 



£pmjmtf)p. 

So oft the telegraphic wire 

Repeats some startling, harrowing tale 
Of crime and famine, flood and fire, 

Of bitter want or sorrow's wail, 
That many a sympathetic soul 

Which once a touch of nature stirred 
Indifferent grows, until the whole 

Is heard but as an idle word. 

J Jut cold indeed the heart must be 

That is not turned by pity's weight 
To that lone city by the sea, 

In ashes sitting desolate ; 
Her hapless, homeless people fled, 

Or crouching low by ruined walls, 
Unfed, unclad, uncomforted — 

A scene humanity appalls. 



10 POEMS. 

When proud Chicago writhed in flame — 

The glory of our great Northwest — 
From Texas, Southern sister, came 

Relief surpassing all the rest; 
When Pestilence o'erswept the land 

And Life and Hope were almost gone. 
Benevolence the distance spanned 

And help went out from Galveston. 

And when we strove in battle's heat 

And combated the nation's foe, 
Some hearts there were that loyal beat 

Along the Gulf of Mexico; 
So let these memories ever live 

And bind us like a golden chain, 
Till by the aid that we shall give 

The sufferer revives attain. 



" €J)C $?ciandjolp £Dap£. 



rr 



Are these "the melancholy days" 
That poets sometimes write about 
So querulous, one scarce can doubt 
That some uneasy qualm, or pout 

Inspired their half-complaining lays? 



" THE MELANCHOLY DAYS." \\ 

Why, happy Time too swiftly flies 
In joy-filled moments, such as these ! 
When Nature's aim seems but to please 
By interweaving harmonies 

That thrill our souls, and feast our eyes. 

Who reads aright her open book, 
Emblazoned, finds on every page 
Some new delight for youth or age ; 
A paean, or a sermon sage 

In rock, and tree, and flowing brook. 

Upon the hills a poem lies; 

Nocturnes are whispered through the trees, 
And caught by every passing breeze ; 
And, from the vale, sweet symphonies, 

As by an angel chorus, rise. 

The year is dying, it is said — 

Can Death be beautiful as this ? 

Without regret, it must be bliss 

To give to earth the parting kiss 
And thus approach one's dying bed. 

it were sweet to know that Death 
Thus beautiful, robbed of its sting, 
That makes it an unwelcome thing, 
Could come to us ! who then would cling- 
To Life, or grudge th' expiring breath ? 



12 POEMS. 

€f)ougljt Cannot SDic. 

The costly tablet man may rear, 

And on its polished face 
With careful hand from year to year, 

His deeds of valor trace ; 
Proclaiming thus to human ken 

His worth and right to claim 
Dae homage from his fellow-men, 

And hope for lasting fame. 

The storied temple he may build, 

And deck its altar-shrine 
With handicraft, refined and skilled. 

And jewels from the mine ; 
May past unworthiness efface 

And make his glory sure, 
By giving in its aisles a place 

To God's deserving poor. 

His skill may make a palace-car 

Luxurious in ease, 
While wind and wave shall bear afar 

His freighted argosies ; 
Some favored turn of Fortune's wheel 

The wealth of earth may pour 
In coffers that shall scarce conceal 

Their overflowing store. 



THO TIGHT CA NNO T DIE. \ 3 

Upon the rough-hewn stepping-stones 

Of poverty and want 
He may ascend, till kingly thrones 

His spirit shall not daunt; 
For on his ladder's highest round, 

Proud monarchs shall revere 
The hero true, by valor crowned, 

And own him as their peer. 

But stately tower or battlement 

Shall yield to slow decay, 
Bright honor, fame, emolument — 

All these shall pass away ; 
And, as alike o'er good and bad. 

The marble shaft shall rise, 
This epitaph, suggestive, sad, 

Is written, "Here he lies!" 

While he who frees a golden thought 

Upon the wings of Time 
Hath unawares and wisely wrought 

A deed far more sublime ; 
For this shall live, beneficent, 

Inspiring hope and trust 
When tower and fane and monument 

Have crumbled into dust. 
2 



14 POEMS. 

Of all the tender and comforting things 
That now and then sweet memory brings, 
There's nothing dearer that love recalls 
Than the old-fashioned house with its white-washed 
walls. 

Not a mansion to-day, though a marvel of art, 
Can ever usurp its place in my heart; 
For there my earliest prayers were said, 
And I slept at night in a trundle bed. 

'Neath coverlids reaching from feet to chin, 
By a mother's hand tucked gently in, 
And a good-night kiss on my tired brow — 
Oh, earth holds no such blessing now ! 

A garden was fragrant in flower beds 
Where marigolds lifted their velvet heads, 
And warmed by sunshine, refreshed by dew, 
The bachelor-button and touch-me-not grew. 

In a river, that curved like a shepherd's crook, 
We fished for minnows with bent pin hook ; 
Or with little bare feet oft waded through, 
And bravely " paddled our own canoe." 



MY PICTURES. 15 

'Twas a home of welcome no one could doubt, 
Whose latch-string hung invitingly out, 
And many a stranger supped at its board 
While blazing logs in the" chimney roared. 

this is an age of reform and change ! 
And things aesthetic, modern, and strange — 
Improvements that savor of silver and gold 
Are superseding the cherished and old. 

But I turn from palaces, built for show, 
With mansard roofs, and stories below 
Of frescoed, kalsomined, dadoed halls, 
To the old-fashioned house with its white-washed 
walls. 



0£p $icturc£. 

They are not set in frames of gold, 
Nor painted by the masters old, 

Whose names are celebrated 
For deft and true artistic touch ; 
But still I prize them quite as much, 

And o-aze on them elated. 



16 POEMS. 

Nor were these treasures handed me 
An heirloom from the family tree, 

And rich in many a blessing 
From pious ancestry — nor were 
They purchased by a connoisseur 

Rare cultured taste possessing. 

But in my chamber, while I slept, 
Some magic artist softly stepped 

From distant realms Elysian, 
And wrought upon my window-pane 
Such wondrous pictures, that I fain 

Believe I see a vision. 

His cunning hand disdained the light, 
And fashioned in the gloom of night, 

Such strange designs — I wonder 
If, 'twixt me and the heavenly land, 
That shadowy veil by his command 

Has not been rent asunder. 

While I in admiration stand, 
And to that viewless master-hand 

My silent homage tender, 
The morning sunlight, glancing through, 
Makes one kaleidoscopic view 

Of rich prismatic splendor. 



MY PICTURES. 17 

I fancy that I see the wall 
Of jasper, amethyst, and all 

Celestial gems combining, 
That round the New Jerusalem 
Gleams like a royal diadem 

In heavenly luster shining. 

A great white throne I now behold, 
The King thereon, the streets of gold, 

And waiting seraphs kneeling ; 
The open pearly gates disclose 
The ever-living stream that flows 

Beneath the trees of healing. 

And thus do busy fancies throng 
My curious brain, and make me long 

To know that great Designer, 
Who thus works out his secret plan, 
So far exceeding skill of man. 

And infinitely finer. 

The sun looks down with ardent ray, 

And soon, alas ! will melt away 

My treasures evanescent; 

But they have not been wrought in vain, 

For memory of them shall remain 

A joy forever present. 
2* 



18 POEMS. 

And I shall see the counterpart 

Of that blest scene that won my heart 

For one delightful hour; 
The world is wide — I look abroad 
" Through Nature up to Nature's God.' r 

And own his wondrous power. 



Cfje fl^i&efion of tfjc f lotoer£. 

Just over the way there 

Was crape on the door, 
Looped up with a ribbon of white ; 

And 1 knew that a dear 

One had passed on before 
To her home in that land of delight. 

I knew of the sorrow 

Bereavement imparts, 
Of grief, when a loved one is gone, 

And thought of the great 

Aching void in their hearts, 
Till my own was in sympathy drawn. 

Low down in the valley 

Of shadows I know 
Friends walked in the deepest of gloom ; 

And often I wondered 

If aught I could do 
Their desolate way to illume. 



A DEE AM. 19 

They were strangers to me, 

And no words could I say, 
But I thought all at once of my flowers — 

How often they'd driven 

My sorrow away, 
And brightened my loneliest hours. 

So I gathered the loveliest 

Blossoms I had 
To send on their mission of love, 

And wondered if she 

Could look down — and be glad — 
From her beautiful mansion above. 

My flowers spoke for me, 

And touched a heart-chord 
That thrilled in responsiveness true ; 

And echoed the joy 

That became my reward 
That the " mission of flowers " I knew. 



2t SDream* 



How strange ! it seems but yesterday 
I clasped thee to my ardent heart ! 

And now, a thousand leagues away 
Beyond the swelling seas thou art. 



20 POEMS. 

Oh ! wearily the hours have sped 

Since that sad day when last we met 

And parted, while the sun o'erhead 
Grew darker, as in fond regret. 

But nights of gloom that shroud my soul 
Are lighted up by dreams of thee — 

Sweet dreams ! which could I but control 
Would last through all eternity. 

'T was such an one, the other night, 
Illumed this dreary world of mine 

As with a ray of heavenly light, 

And filled my heart with joy divine. 

A meteor in my darkened sky 
Thy spirit came, as o'er the deep, 

And wiped the tear-drop from my eye 
And calmed the wave of troubled sleep. 

Encircling arms dispelled my pain ; 

A tender voice, a phantom kiss, 
A loving smile revived again 

Old, unforgotten days of bliss. 

But sad the wakening — sad to know 
That this, the brief refulgent gleam 

Of happiness, that thrilled me so, 
Was but the rapture of a dream. 



THE WEEK OF PEA YER. 21 

A vision bright that came and went. 
One flash of joy, and all was o'er ; 

A boon which Heaven a moment lent 
And then withdrew forevermore. 

'T were vain to wish thy hours of rest 
With thoughts of one might radiant be 

Who, of thy friendship still possessed, 
Through all the years remembers thee. 

But may I hope, while far apart 
We are, and others win thy praise, 

Thou wilt not quite forget the heart 
That bows in love to thee always. 



Z\yt Wttk of #rapcr. 

" A season of refreshing from 

The presence of the Lord" 
Ensues when saints together come, 

And join in sweet accord 
To praise the " Giver of all good " ; 

And, for His constant care, 
To render heartfelt gratitude — 

As in the " Week of Prayer." 



22 POEMS. 

Impelled by one uplifting thought 

Came forth " the praying band " 
From palace hall, or lowly cot, 

All over this broad land ; 
And who can doubt that from above, 

In heavenly realms of air, 
The angels looked, in wond'ring love, 

And blessed the "Week of Prayer"? 

By fireside, in busy mart, 

As by concerted plan, 
A common impulse stirred the heart 

Of universal man 
To consecrate the dawning year, 

In promise bright and fair, 
To Him who have the thought sincere 

Of that first " Week of Prayer." 

'T were meet, indeed, to choose one week 

From fifty-two or more, 
For His benignity to seek, 

And clemency implore ; 
But every week throughout the year 

The same sweet name should bear 
That every Christian must revere — 

The precious " Week of Prayer." 



THE UNKNOWN FRIEND. 23 

The golden years are passing by ! 

May we in prayerful mood 
Abide, until the end draws nigh, 

For " God is ever good," 
And richest blessings shall come down 

If we our hearts prepare, 
And His approval fitly crown 

Each hallowed "Week of Prayer/ 1 



%n anftnoton f ricnt>, 

I've grown to love that unknown friend, 
On whom my grateful thoughts depend ; 
And wish I might some message send 

My gratitude expressing, 
For bountiful, Thanksgiving cheer 
That comes with each recurring year, 
And proves " a friend is ever near," 

Whose love invokes my blessing. 

I marvel who that one may be, 
Who kindly deigns to favor me 
With such substantial sympathy, 

And whether man or woman 
Does this the welcome gift bestow — 
More blest than I in doing so — 
I'm sure the friend I long to know 

Is more divine than human. 



24 POEMS. 

My secret thoughts oft cling around 
One whom true honor long hath crowned 
Whose noble heart, by chance I found, 

My devious way pursuing ; 
From whose right hand, where'er it goes, 
True bounty, like a river, flows ; 
And still, the prudent left hand knows 

Not what the right is doing. 

Again I wonder — till I fain 
Believe the picture in my brain, 
That fades but to return again, 

Can surely be no other 
Than One whom all unite to praise ; 
Who searches out life's thorny ways, 
And to each fainting heart displays 

The kindness of a brother. 

Thus every day I cogitate, 

With anxious heart, and longing, wait 

To know the friend whom happy Fate 

To me hath kindly given ; 
But, if my hope I must resign, 
And may not know, or take in mine 
The hand that gives — so near divine — 

It will be known in Heaven. 



TRINITY COLLEGE. 25 

OTrinitp College. 

O Trinity! thy turrets gleam 

In proximate suburban space 
Like vast cathedral towers, and seem 

Suggestive of some holy place; 
Some quiet, quaint, monastic spot, 

"Within whose deep reclusive shade 
Benignant priors might have taught, 

And strangely solemn friars prayed. 

Grand metamorphosis of rocks ! 

A blemish once on nature's face, 
By sudden expedited shocks 

Of man's designing, rent apace ; 
The work of master-architect 

Amorphous mass who shaped anew, 
That magic-like, without defect, 

Into thy storied structure grew. 

O symbol of a golden age 

That typifies, in solid stone, 
A progress neither seer nor sage 

Of ancient time had ever known ! 
For in symmetric, stately walls 

Is dignified an honored name 
That Athens' classic haunts recalls, 

And rivals Alexandria's claim. 

3 



26 POEMS. 

Here Xenophon's delightful maze 

Allures the philologic mind, 
Or Plato's facile, honeyed phrase 

Ambitious youth their model find; 
While Homer's bold hexameters, 

And Virgil's matchless epic lines, 
To Poesy's wild worshipers 

Are sacred as their altar-shrines. 

Thy bounds encircle forum-ground 

Where embryonic Presidents 
The key to statesmanship have found, 

Or latent gift of eloquence ; 
While, promised guerdon of his dreams, 

More radiant than kingly crown, 
To many a bright aspirant, seems 

The ermined robe, or surplice-gown. 

Proud alma mater thou hast been 

Of scores of earth's successful sons 
Who, in life's broad arena, win 

The plaudits of less favored ones ; 
Who toy with fame, and are beset 

By honor and prosperity — 
But never, never quite forget 

Their love and reverence for thee. 



AN EPISODE. 27 

Within thy portals year by year, 

From every clime beneath the sun, 
May those assemble who revere 

The majesty of " Three in One " ; 
Thus, o'er the daisied fields around 

Where student-feet shall press the sod, 
With nature's worship shall resound 

The voice of praise to nature's God. 



Like treasure-trove, within a chest 
For years it lay securely hid, 

Till busy hands, one day possessed 
Of leave to raise the ponderous lid, 

'Mong other relics quickly caught 

This old memento, half-forgot. 

Time-tinted 't was, and redolent : 
As if its hiding-place had been 

A chaliced flower, diffusing scent 
As sweet as rose or jessamine — 

But I remember, now I think, 

'T was that delicious violet ink ! 



28 POEMS. 

Of all refined dulciloquy 

Expressed in that " first valentine " — 
No wonder that it seemed to me, 

In greener years, almost divine, 
As I read on with bated breath, 
The loyal ending — "Yours, till death." 

An artist in his native land, 

His skill acknowledged far and wide, 

With fame and wealth at his command — 
What boon before had been denied 

To him who had the missive penned, 

And craved a dearer name than friend ? 

Who would have thought it ? Cousin Fay I 

The revelation was a blow 
That almost took my breath away — 

I pitied him — ' twas years ago — 
He's living yet. Can Earth impart 
No solace to his broken heart ? 



A letter from a friend since then 
My kinsman Raphael depicts 

Wrapped up — oh, paradox of men ! 
In his sweet wife and children six ; 

And so for him no more I sigh — 

If one needs pity, do not I ? 



CHRISTMAS. 29 

<£f)rt0tma& 

We reveled in the joy of 

December's greatest boon ; 
Fair, sunny skies, as cloudless 

And radiant as June. 

Like healing balm, the sunshine 

Poured out its softest rays ; 
While lengthened bits of twilight 

Eked out the shortened days. 

Anon, a transformation, 

Revealed by morning light — 
And all the earth is covered 

With robes of dazzling white. 

We doubt no more that winter, 

That seemed so far away, 
Uncertain, long-delaying, 

Has come, and come to stay. 

The tender benediction 

That crowns the dying year, 
In every heart accords with 

A thought of Christmas cheer. 

3* 



30 POEMS. 

An ancient custom lighted 

The glowing "yule-log-' fire — 

Tis ours to add the beauty 
Of holiday attire. 

Through gorgeous windows peering 
On gayest festal scenes, 

The urchin ponders over 
His slender stock of means. 

In huge bazaars, resplendent 
With treasures rich and gay. 

Mammas select the presents 
For which papas must pay. 

Each home a rich museum, 

Aladdin's palace is ; 
Its hidden wealth provoking 

Untold anxieties. 

'Tis said, " It is more blessed 
To give, than to receive ! " 

let us prove the maxim, 
And know what we believe ! 

" The poor are with you always ! " 

He wins a diadem 
Who, of his Christmas largesse, 

Reserves a share for them. 



ORA TITUDE. 31 

oBratitubc, 

( > could I dip my barbarous'quill 

In fountains of cerulean ink, 
And catch the merry, mellow trill 

Of robin red or bobolink, 
I'd frame, in tuneful, tinkling phrase, 
For him of bounteous works and ways 
Who well deserves this meed of praise, 
The sweetest of all lyric lays ! 

If I could call the angels down, 

And from their own bright jewels cull 

A star to glisten in his crown — 

With sparkling gems already full — 

'T would faintly show my gratitude 

To one whose gracious deference stood 

As recompense for conduct rude 

From grosser natures interviewed. 

If I. so notable, could weave 

A shining robe, like silver lawn, 
On some ambrosial, amber eve 

I 'd beg of him to put it on ; 
That its enchanting folds might gleam 
Before his dazzled eyes, and seem 
Symbolical of true esteem 
For him of whom I dare to dream. 



32 POEMS. 

could I claim the monarch's right, 

That of creating lords — of men — 
With royal favor I 'd requite 
His generosity ; and then 
Proclaim, as if in trumpet-tone, 
That every courtier round the throne 
Should do him honor, who hath grown 
Into my heart, from kindness shown ! 



O a merry heart ! it doeth good, 

And like a panacea is 
Whose properties once understood, 
How strange ! that anybody should 

Disdain this best of remedies. 

For a merry heart, like a medicine, 

Relieves distress, and lightens care ; 
A rift of sunshine that, let in 
Where melancholy long hath been, 
Will counteract and cheat despair. 

A merry heart and a smiling face 

That not a cloud nor frown doth know, 
May penetrate some lowly place 
Where its serene, reflective grace 
Shall make the live-long day aglow. 



WAITING. 33 

a merry heart goes hand in hand 

With a light, elastic tread, as free 
As the air one breathes of his native land, 
Or breezes wafted o'er the strand 

From spicy islands of the sea. 

A merry heart is the " mind-cure " true ! 

For it brings the strength and vigor back 
To invalids, that erst they knew, 
And quickly gives of the rose's hue 

To pallid cheeks the bloom they lack. 

A merry heart an index is 

Of that sweet peace, whose sure control 
Evokes from Life's discordancies 
Such wonderful sweet harmonies 

As might enchant a seraph soul. 



Waiting. 

I waited when the storm was wild, 

Until the face of Nature smiled, 

And Earth and Heaven were reconciled. 

I waited when the skies were fair, 
And richest odors filled the air, 
And sunshine rested everywhere. 



34 POEMS. 

When sweetest notes of melody, 
From tuneful birds in every tree, 
Seemed warbled but to gladden me. 

I waited when the sun was low, 
And bathed the woodlands in a glow 
Of tints that art could not bestow. 

A hand unseen, beneficent, 

The rainbow's arch of splendor bent 

With dying sunset glories blent. 

I waited while the veil of night 
Was slowly drawn before my sight 
And fastened with a star of light. 

When slumber reigned the world around, 

I waited still the glad rebound 

Of hope, by sweet fruition crowned. 

Thus day by day, from earliest dawn 
Till evening's latest guest is gone, 
With lagging pace the hours go on. 

Still patiently I meditate 

On brighter days, that soon or late, 

Will surely come, if I but wait. 



JUNE. 35 

-June. 

The melody woke by the Spring's fairy fingers 

In every tree, 
Like sweet voices heard in some happy dream lingers 

In memory. 

All Nature is joyous to greet the fair comer ; 

Like falling rain 
A voice floats from Heaven proclaiming that Summer 

Is here again. 

Busy bees in the sweet blossom bells now are swinging, 

And everywhere 
The buds and leaves bend to their low drowsy singing, 

In the still air. 

'T were joy thus to live 'mid abundance of flowers, 

From day to day; 
In sunshine and gladness, till Life's golden hours 

Shall pass away.' 

And joy, when the noon of its beautiful summer 

Wanes to the fall. 
If peace shall illumine the path of that Comer, 

Who comes to all. 



$6 POEMS. 

$omtma r g <&ift$. 

To denizens of dusty streets 

That circumscribe their pent abodes, 
By chance who traverse rural roads, 

The charming sight itself repeats, 

Again and oft, of luscious sweets 

Uppiled in verdant, cool retreats. 

Inviting clusters load the vine, 

Whose flavor hid in spheric shapes 
Belies the tale of " Sour Grapes " ; 

For taste of which so saccharine, 

The reason why may one divine 

The philosophic fox should pine. 

O angels ! it is hard to pray 

" Into temptation lead us not " ! 

Who every step are nearer brought 
Where plenty maketh glad the way, 
As oases the desert gray, 
Or beacon lights the harbor bay. 

And hard to interdict the hand 

From reaching through our neighbor's fence 
Forgive the covetous intents ! — 

Where monarehs of the orchard stand, 

And scatter treasures as the sand 

Is strewn alone; the ocean strand. 



POMONA'S GIFTS. 37 

Would " Prohibition's " strict decree 
Forbid that one delicious draught, 
The nectar that our fathers quaffed, 

Our lips should moisten — just to see, 

In its bouquet and purity, 

Its honest maker's guaranty ? 

Pomona ! goddess said to be 

To whom the pagan tribes of old, 

At altar shrines adorned with gold, 
With bodies prone or bended knee, 
Confessed thy generosity, 
And orisons poured out as free ! 

Is it thy hand, subordinate 

To an unchanging, loving will, 
That lavishly such wealth doth spill 

Of fruitage ripe in autumn late, 

Beyond the city's outer gate, 

Whore lanes and highways deviate ? 

Ah, no ; for heathen evermore 

Imagine vain and foolish things — 

As beings strange witli airy wings 
In fair Elysium that soar 
And hold their sway o'er sea and shore — 
The deities of mythic lore. 

4 



38 POEMS. 

But we, intelligent, endued 

With higher wisdom, reverence 
The God who is Beneficence ; 
And for His gifts each year renewed 
Attune our songs in gratitude, 
And praise the Giver of all good. 



Don't pour in everybody's ear 

The story of your hapless lot ! 
How heavy taxes were last year, 

Or that the farm you lately bought 
Is proving an investment dear, 

And not the bargain that you thought. 

Don't try to make the world believe 

That you're a poor unfortunate ! 
That favors which you should receive 

Come not at all — or come too late ; 
The world will never stop to grieve 

A moment o'er your luckless fate. 

Don't button-hole upon the street 

A friend or neighbor, unawares, 
And with a rueful face repeat 

That doleful tale about the tares 
Appearing in your choicest wheat — 

Why should you think your neighbor cares ? 



MYSTERIOUS. 39 

Don't hail a person, as he goes 

With hurried air and ringing tread, 

To tell him of your private woes ! 
In half an hour should you be dead, 

How long the fact, do you suppose, 
Would interest his busy head ? 

Don't let the world know all about 

Your petty, pitiful affairs ! 
For some will smile, and others doubt ; 

A few, perhaps, will in their prayers 
Remember you — the few devout — 

But, after all, nobody cares. 



It was on a winter's night, 

And the wind blew sharp and shrill ; 
Brightly glowed the anthracite 

Lighting up my domicile, 
When before the fire I brought 

My fauteuil, soft and low, 
Cushioned, carved, and quaintly wrought 

In the style of lono- a2;o. 



40 POEMS. 

Care had vanished with the day, 

And, as by the fire-light rays, 
Fancy in a dreamy way 

Pictured scenes of other days ; 
Skillfully her fingers drew, 

Silently, defined, and clear, 
< >ne bright panoramic view 

Of the past forever dear. 

Oh, the night was wild without, 

And the skies were grim and cold ; 
Drifted snow-banks piled about 

Acres hid of frozen mold ; 
But within, as though 't were Spring, 

Piping out their chansonnettes 
I could hear the robins sing, 

1 could smell the violets. 

So I dreamed — and woke to find, 

Roused from this delightful nap, 
From an unknown donor kind 

Something lying in my lap ; 
Such a pretty birthday card ! 

As if wafted from above, 
With a couplet from that bard 

Who divinelv sang of love. 



TRISTESSE. 41 

Just a bit of pasteboard, fringed 

Necktie style and squarely cut, 
Double-faced and ecru-tinged 

Like a million others — but 
Exquisite in flowers rare, 

Pioneers in blossoming, 
Redolent of balmy air, 

Fragrant with the breath of Spring. 

How it came I never knew, 

Nor the " Open Sesame" 
That my door responded to — 

It is all a mystery — 
But to me 't will ever seem 

Angels dropped it in my room ; 
Inspiration of my dream, 

Sweet with violet perfume. 



Oh, weary steps ! Why follow where 

No joys illume, 
O'er trodden paths, so hard and bare, 

And dark with gloom ? 

Tumult is misery, and naught 

That earth contains 
Is coveted, like some blest spot 

Where quiet reigns. 

4* 



42 POEMS. 

Away from " busy haunts of men," 

The ceaseless din, 
Behold ! — an unfrequented glen, 

And rest within. 

Thy countless charms, Solitude ! 

By sages sung, 
Are recognized in this deep wood; 

A kindly tongue, 

In rock, and tree, and flowing brook, 

That whispers peace ; 
A voice from every sheltered nook 

Bids sorrow cease. 

Sweet evening breezes fan the face, 

And cool the brow, 
While day-light wanes, with matchless grace, 

Unknown till now. 

There 's naught, that hinders pure delight, 

Can enter here ; 
And none, but " voices of the night," 

Salute the ear. 

'T is joy to know, as o'er the way 

The shadows creep, 
There comes, to close the impassioned day, 

Forgetting sleep. 



THE LAND OF ROSES. 43 

OTfjc Eano of fto£c£. 

Afar from these changeable, chilly, 

Hyperborean regions of ours. 
Lies a land that is melting in sunshine, 

And sweet with the odor of flowers. 

A land where the broad Mississippi 
Pours out her great heart to the sea — 

Whose fair Crescent City gives promise 
Of grandeur and glory to be. 

'T is the goal of the Paradise-seeker, 

Resplendent in vernal attire ; 
The aim of the tourist's ambition, 

The invalid's longing desire. 

There roses are everywhere blooming 

On trellis, veranda, and wall — 
Mareschal Neil, or the rare " Gold of Oplnr," 

The fairest, and favorite of all. 

A pink flush suffusing its petals, 

The yellow of gold at its heart, 
Make this the perfection of roses — 

Beyond imitation of art. 

Sweet roses run rife in the market, 
Embellish the hot-house and lawn, 

And tempt the admirer to purchase 
Till roses have faded and « - one. 



44 POEMS. 

My lady displays at her bodice 
A marvelous fragrant bouquet, 

And weaves for her forehead a chaplet 
Of roses, in tasteful array. 

The lover selects for his mistress 

Jacqueminot, or the creamy Lamarque 

In scarce-opened buds, emblematic 
Of true love's incipient spark. 

'Mid roses in lavish profusion, 

Inhaling the scent-laden air 
The sojourner lingers, believing 

Perennial spring-time is there. 

'T is the home of " The Great Exposition " 
Oh ! who that has money and time 

Can banish desire for basking 
Awhile in that tropical clime ? 



Co #ne %fat. 

It seems the days will never end 
Apart from thee, my one dear friend, 
Whom every hour my thoughts attend. 

Fair morning dawns in dewy grace 
And seeks, with kisses on my face, 
Night's ling'ring tear-drops to erase. 



TO ONE AFAR. 45 

Like fragrant censers swung in air 
Exhaling odor rich and rare, 
Sweet flower-bells are everywhere. 

Gay carols warbled wild and free 
From tuneful throats in every tree 
King out in wondrous harmony. 

While, fair aeolians in disguise 
With unseen harps, the breezes rise 
And chant their softest lullabies. 

And with them other strains combine 
That seem less human than divine, 
And gladden every heart — but mine. 

For everything I hear or see 

Becomes dispiriting to me, 

Because — it is not shared with thee. 

And skies, however bright and clear, 
Surcharged with gloom to me appear, 
For I am sad — thou art not here. 

Meek patience I impersonate, 

And looking, longing, wond'ring, wait 

For thy return — if soon or late. 

Thy lot I know is happiness — 

For thee doth Heaven delight to bless — 

And my lament but selfishness. 



46 POEMS. 

That thou art glad explaineth why 
The world around thee smiles, and I 
Am happier — when thou art nigh. 

As boundless as its sympathies 
All tenderness thy nature is, 
To bear with mine infirmities. 

And thou dost find with secret art 

Thy way into a weary heart, 

And lease of strength anew 'impart. 

How long — how long wilt thou delay ? 
Who unawares hast borne away 
The melody and joy of day. 

from that far-alluring shore 
Come back, I pray thee, and restore 
Its gladness unto Life once more ! 



<Ca£t SPoton. 

" Out of the depths", I cry, 
And know Thou nearest me, 

Who, from Thy throne on high, 
In tender sympathy 

Art looking down where I 
O'ershadowed, cling to Thee. 



A JUNE IDYL. 47 

Dark grows the path I tread; 

And when the gloom of night, 
Around me and o'erhead, 

Shall steal upon my sight, 
Oh ! shall I then be led 

By Thy celestial light ? 

Thick clouds obscure my sky — 

I walk in shifting sand 
Where pitfalls thickly lie, 

And scarce can understand 
That there is ever nigh 

My Father's guiding hand. 

Oh ! may I not despair, 

Though by affliction tried; 
Still may 1 look up where 

Sits Christ, the Crucified, 
And cast on Him my care, 

And in His love abide. 



2d ^unc gtopL 

I dream that I dwell in a beautiful bower, 
Transported intact from some tropical land ; 

Enriched with as rare and bewildering a dower 
Of beauty and fragrance as one could demand. 



48 POEMS. 

The fairest of flowers are freely perfuming 
The air that surrounds me wherever I tread ; 

For under my window syringas are blooming, 
And apple-tree blossoms are thick overhead. 

The lilac's luxuriant cones are beginning 
To open their petals to sunshine and dew, 

And orchards like spicy amomum are winning 
Their merited share of encomium too. 

Delicious and delicate rose exhalations 
Commingle with violets dotting the lawn, 

Where from the corollas of lovely carnations 

The humming-bird sips till their sweetness is gone„ 

Rich blooms hyaeinthine, but tardily started, 
Arc now of as exquisite odor possessed 

As memories dear of companions departed, 
Or scent-laden breezes from Araby blest. 

To swing in a hammock 'mid such efflorescence 
Is quite the perfection of indolent bliss — 

I wonder if ever in sweet adolescence 

My visions of Eden were fairer than this ! 

Just over the way a fresh silver soprano 
A soul full of melody seems to repeat, 

Where Katie is seated beside the piano 

Rehearsing " The vale where the bright waters 
meet." 



A BEE AM. 49 

It carries me back to that story by Shelley — 

Oh, no! — I forget — 'twas delightful, Tom Moon' 

Who wrote about Lalla, the princess of Delhi, 

And — only for love — the long journey she bore 

How well I remember, when ardent and glowing 
With notions romantic, the pleasure I took 

In reading the poem, and wished I were going 
To be a Sultana — like fair Lalla Rookh ! 

strong the illusion, and binding the glamour 
A poet can give ! — it seems perfectly clear. 

Though thought is maturer and fancy is calmer, 
That I am indeed in the vale of Cashmere ! 



2t SDream, 

I've had a sweet glimpse 
Of a far-away land ; 

In dreaming, it came unto me ; 
I thought I was walking- 
Alone by the strand 

Of a placid and beautiful sea. 

Its borders abounded 

With verdure and life ; 
And beyond was a city, so fair, 

That with it in grandeur 

And elegance rife, 
There's nothing on earth can compare. 



50 POEMS. 

And angels were there, too ; 

Though I've never seen 
Them, I know how the angels must look ; 

And one of majestic 

And heavenly mien, 
Was writing down names in a book. 

I wondered if that were 

The book, we are told, 
Where the names of the blessed appear ; 

In that beautiful land 

Where the streets are of gold, 
And the light is so wondrously clear. 

I longed to know whether 
My name was placed there, 

And could not resist, till I spoke 
To the angel, who looked 
O'er the record with care, 

But before he could answer, — 1 woke. 

I'm so disappointed, 

And wish that I had 
Received a response to my call ; 

For often I fear — 

And the thought is so sad — 
That it miii'ht not have been there at all. 



GOOD-BYE TO DR. SAGE: 51 

4£oofc2£>pc to 5Dr. J>a0C 

Oh, we shall miss his presence here, 

His counsels, wise and kind, 
The guiding hand, the helpful cheer 
That made him friend and pastor dear 

To whom all hearts inclined ! 

When far away, shall memory 

Ofttimes to us reveal 
That earnest face we loved to see, 
The lips that spake so worthily 

When touched by heavenly zeal. 

J lis manly form and noble brow 

Shall be remembered long ; 
The regal mind to which we bow, 
The loving heart that taught us how 

" To suffer, and be strong." 

But our affections shall he bear 

Through many a future day ; 
And still our truest friendship share 
While thoughts, light-winged with love and prayer, 

Pursue him on his way. 

And he, with Life's untrodden ways 

Before him, fresh and new, 
Shall turn to " scenes of other days," 
To hearts that name him but to praise 

And uive him homage due. 



52 POEMS. 

Be kind to him, benignant Fate ! 

And let not absence dim, 
Nor length of time obliterate 
The virtues we would emulate 

As oft we think of him. 

And friends and neighbors yet to be, 
Whose gain shall be our loss, 

Be true to him, and learn as we 

Of him in all humility 

AVI 10 bravely bears the cross. 

May richest blessings hover round 

His far-off Western home, 
May health and happiness be found, 
And life with Heaven's approval crowned 
Where'er his footsteps roam. 

And our Father! guard thou well 
That happy household band 

For whom our hearts with sorrow swell, 

As we regretful tears repel 

And give the parting hand. 

For them shall bells of memory chime 
AVhile flowers gem the sod, 

Until, beyond the cares of Time 

We meet, within that brighter clime, 
Around the throne of God. 

July, 1884. 



MISSED. 53 

Untenanted their mansion stands, 

Bereft of every trace 
Of those whose dextrous, facile hands, 
Could so control unwieldy plans, 

And things dispose in place. 

All through these Indian Summer days, 

Upon the terrace lie 
The mellow sunlight's golden rays, 
That flash athwart the dreamy haze 

Beneath the Autumn sky. 

Before the portal, where no feet 

Disturb the leaves, all sere, 
We pause, and half expect to greet 
The loving friends we used to meet — 

Alas ! they are not here. 

We miss them ever, just the same 

As when they went awajj, 
And just as fondly breathe their name 
As neighbors gather and exclaim : 

" Would they were here to-day ! " 

In social cheer, and labor wrought 
We recognize the lack 

5* 



54 POEMS. 

Of aid and sympathy, and naught 
Can dissipate the hopeful thought 
That they will yet — come back. 

A thousand things suggest the sense 

Of our unworthiness 
To be the blest recipients 
Of love, whose sweet munificence 

Conferred such happiness. 

will they not forgive, wherein 

We may have done amiss, 
And place, against regretted sin, 
The wish we had more faithful been, 

And but remember this ? 

That, though by careless act or word 

Unguarded and undue, 
In human frailty we have erred 
And oft their tender anguish stirred, 

Our hearts were always true. 

Unto that far-off home to-night 

Is wafted many a thought, 
By those directed in its flight 
Whom they have sought to guide aright, 

And who forget them not. 
November, 1884. 



AT HALF MAST. 55 

No joyful song is mine to-day 

Because at early morning, 
That solemn bell not far away 

Pealed forth its dreadful warning ; 
And through my heart a shudder went 

For by arrangement given, 
That General Grant — the signal meant — 

Had passed from earth to Heaven. 

Then, later, down the street I passed 

So sad — almost to crying — 
For all around me at half mast 

The " stripes and stars " were flying ; 
And friendly faces that I sought 

Were signs of sorrow wearing — 
That is, all who in kindly thought 

Are our dead hero bearing. 

For some will scoff instead of sigh, 

And wickedly upbraid him — 
But there are those who would defy 

And curse the God who made him ; 
And some beside his bier will crave 

A place, and round him hover 
Who — ghouls, and heartless ! — from the grave 

Would tear its sacred cover. 



56 POEMS. 

0, shame ! for aye throughout the land 

Let theirs he detestation, 
Who would have manacled the hand 

Of him who saved the nation ; 
On his high tower how harmless fall 

Alike reproach and slander, 
While deeds of war and peace recall 

The worth of our commander. 

Then wheresoever, o'er the world, 

The name of " Grant " is spoken, 
Let flags half-masted be unfurled 

As grief's expressive token ; 
For naught to him are honors now 

Which, through the years, have crowned him, 
Who lies upon the mountain brow 

His banner wrapped around him. 

let us hope, from his far height 

The blessed fields Elysian, 
The Promised Land appeared in sight 
And cheered his waning vision. 

As from McGregor's lonely crest 
With rev'rcnt hands we bear him 

Who knoweth not, in painless rest, 
How ill the world can spare him. 



BE KIND TO THE AGED. 57 

25c $tint> to tiyc SUgeti. 

Be kind to the aged who sorrow have known, 
Whose way has been rugged and steep ; 

Now, over the hill, who are treading alone 
The valley where shadows lie deep. 

With reverence look on their whitening hair 

That a halo of glory appears ; 
A beautiful crown like an aureole fair 

Bequeathed to the fullness of years. 

Be kind to the aged whose counsels have been 

Like blessings from patriarch-lips ; 
A richer possession than any within 

The wealth-laden Orient-ships. 

Ere long we shall miss them, for soon it must be 

Their tottering footsteps shall reach 
The shore of that limitless, unexplored sea 

That breaks on Eternity's beach. 

Be kind to the aged — the cycle of Time 

As swiftly-revolving shall bring 
The winter of Life with its desolate rime 

To you, who are now in its spring. 



58 POEMS. 

Then brighten their pathway, their burden take on 

Till Life with its trials be past ; 
'Twill be a sweet thought when from earth they are 
gone, 

And Heaven will bless you at last. 



4Mofccr. 

Oh, what can rival Nature's charms. 

O'er all the woodlands lying, 
When " Autumn folds her jeweled arms 

Around the year,'" now dying ! 

With fresh surprise on every hand, 

But not one hue that's sober, 
A nameless charm invests the land 

hi radiant, rare October. 

What splendor everywhere displayed 

In lavishness unsparing ! 
'Tis Nature's own "grand dress parade," 

Her full regalia wearing. 

Fair, blooming Spring, in robes of green, 
That once we deemed enchanting, 

Grows pale when Autumn, gorgeous queen, 
Her roval robes are flaunting. 



OCTOBER. 59 

The loveliest tints that Nature hath 

Were blent and concentrated 
Around one bright, sequestered path, 

Wherein I walked, elated. 

The maples and the beeches tried 

To prove each other duller, 
And lent to all the mountain side 

Luxuriance of color. 

The sumacs, in their scarlet hoods, 

Stood proudly up, defying 
The tallest monarch of the woods, 

All gorgeous, in their dying. 

The ivy, clinging to the oak, 

Looked down, serenely blushing. 
And though no sound the silence broke, 

I marked her hectic flushing. 

The leaves, that rustled to my tread. 

Glanced up but to discover 
Bright tints of gold, and brown, and red, 

In branches bending over. 

Such beauties all a hand bespeak 

With heavenly skill acquainted ; 
The hand that gives the rose's cheek 

Its hue, divinely painted. 



60 POEMS. 

May wondrous Nature long retain 
The glories that enrobe her, 

And chill November not disdain 
To emulate October. 



With treasures so dear that words cannot portray 

How much of my life they enfold, 
Are two silver dollars, safe hidden away, 

More precious than jewels or gold, 
In the innermost space of an odorous drawer, 
In the labyrinth haunts of my escritoire. 

If thousands of others just like them were mine, 

Bright disks of the currency art, 
Like beautiful offerings laid on a shrine, 

I 'd solemnly keep them apart, 
As sacred to one, whose beneficent hand 
More bountiful was than I dared to demand. 

I argued one day how much butter and bread 
They would buy — it was only a whim — 

For then I remembered the donor, and said 
I 'd keep them — mementoes of him. 

Oh, may he live long and^prosperity know, 

And Earth for his sake wear her loveliest "low ! 



WHEN ROSES BL OM A GAIN. 6 L 

I wish I were pious enough to bring down 

A blessing direct from the skies ! 
It should not go begging all over the town 

For some one in heavenly guise 
To claim the dear boon; upon him it should rest 
By whom are the needy made happy and blest. 



VOXytn fio$c$ 25loont 3tgatn. 

With wasted form and countenance. 

Too frail and weak to rise, 
An ever-longing, questioning glance 

Within her earnest eyes, 
Upon her couch the sufferer lay, 
And watched the slow hours pass away. 

We bathed her brow, so young and fair, 
And touched her fading cheek 

With gentle hand, but did not dare 
Our trembling fears to speak; 

But trusted care and skill to know, 

And baffle Life's insidious foe. 

We said, " The winter shall be gone, 
And, whisp'ring through the trees, 

And o'er the sun-crowned, grassy lawn, 
Spring-time's refreshing breeze 

With healing wings shall sweep the plain, 

And bring her roses back again. " 
6 



62 POEMS. 

" The balmy air, the bright sunshine, 

The odor of the flowers, 
The song of birds, shall all combine, 

In coming vernal hours, 
To'cheat disease, and soon restore 
To life its blush and bloom once more. 1 

As in each heart this hopeful thought 
Grew every day more dear, 

Beside her, though we knew it not, 
An angel hovered near, 

Unseen, and beckoned her away 

To realms of everlasting day. 

Ere winter passed, was made a grave 

Beneath the frozen sod ; 
And in the spring shall grasses wave 

Where we in sadness trod, 
And roses shall their sweet perfume 
Exhale above a narrow tomb. 

Dear heart, that never harbored guile, 
In thought, mature and wise, 

A being, lent to earth awhile, 
But fitted for the skies ; 

"Why weep that she is freed from pain 

Before the roses bloom again ? 



INDIAN SUMMER. 63 

3 f n&ian Summer. 

Again that Unseen Hand hath'wrought 

Brown, amber tints, and gory! 
And, lo ! October woods have caught 

Their true autumnal glory ! 

A welcome, cordial and sincere, 

Awaits this tardy comer, 
The gem of each recurring year, 

Delightful Indian Summer ! 

A touch of frost upon the trees 

Has set them all a-glowing ! 
On leaves, that dally in the breeze, 

Their matchless hues bestowing! 

While mountain slopes reveal a scene 

Of undisputed splendor, 
Far brighter lies the vale between, 

In sunset raptures tender. 

The faintest zephyr breath that stirs 

Fair nature's calm reposing, 
Provokes a shower of chestnut-burrs 

Their hidden wealth disclosing:. 



64 POEMS. 

Where purple-clustered muscatels 
In dewy lanes are fragrant, 

The bumble-bee in ambush dwells, 
A loitering, idle vagrant ! 

A dreamy, atmospheric haze 
O'er hill and vale is lying, 

As, passing fair, the year displays 

Her " matchless charms " — in dying. 

Thus beautiful, when touched by rime 
Of age, by God's disposing, 

Should life, like Indian Summer time, 
Be brightest in its closing;. 



I've been so happy all day long ! 
As though some new, delightful song 
Were in my heart, and thrilled it where 
Before were sorrow, pain, and care. 

The world is brighter — every thought 
With love and thankfulness is fraught ; 
'Mid daily toil or evening rest, 
At every hour, my soul is blest. 



THE CHURCH OF THE GOOD SHEPHERD. 65 

And each succeeding moment brings 
The light of gladness on its wings : 
While, seemingly, there hovers near 
An angel-form, my heart to cheer. 

Footsteps, accustomed long to roam, 
Have found, at last, their wished-for home ; 
And in contentment, tread the way 
From which they may not, dare not stray. 

0, may my life be e'er imbued 
With joy that comes from doing good : 
And in thine all-embracing care 
Keep me, my Father, is my prayer ! 



Zl)t €i)utti) of tl)t <Sooti ^fjqrtjetrD* 

Beyond the smoke, beyond the sound 

Of crowded habitation, 
With gables quaint and steeple crowned, 
It stands upon a rise of ground 

Of charming situation ; 
And city folk as Christians found, 
With rural dwellers miles around, 

Make up the congregation. 



66 POEMS. 

Beyond obnoxious dust and heat, 

By ancient elms surrounded, 
An edifice unique and neat 
As choice suburban country-seat 

Its patroness hath founded, 
In whose calm Sabbath-like retreat 
From choir and organ anthems sweet 
Of praise have long resounded. 

A vast symmetric pile, ornate 

With arch and cantalever, 
With tiles antique that tessellate 
The spacious roof elaborate ; 
And spire suggesting ever 
A thought of Him supremely great 
Who doth approve and stimulate 
Each nobly-meant endeavor. 

Rare arabesques like raveled lace, 

From architrave to ceiling, 
Embellish niches that encase 
Fair cherubim, in classic grace 
The sculptor's art revealing, 
That overlook the chancel-space 
Like sentinels to guard the place 
When waiting saints are kneeling. 



THE CHCRCH OF THE GOOD SHEPHERD. 67 

Oh, not in temples thus upreared 

And richly decorated, 
Our fathers worshiped, who revered 
The God they loved no less than feared, 

But humbly congregated 
In sylvan shades to them endeared 
As Bethels where, till He appeared, 

They fasted, prayed, and waited. 

Forever blest the hand that brings, 

Rebuking pride and malice, 
This noblest, best of offerings — 
The gift that speaketh better things 

From wealth's o'erflowing chalice, 
Than monuments to buried kings, 
Or ostentatious pomp that clings 

Around some stately palace. 

May all who throng its transept take 

New zeal from that old story 
Of One " as man who never spake," 
Till notes of gratitude shall break 

The solemn offertory, 
And labor wrought for Jesus' sake 
This " Church of the Good Shepherd " make 

The gateway unto glory. 



68 POEMS. 

Although I know not who thou art, 

Or if we're near, or far apart, 

Thou hast completely won my heart, 

My dear incognito ! 
And all my fancies round thee twine, 
Whose footsteps seem to follow mine, 
The reason why I can't divine, — 

No matter where I go. 

If I, when care-oppressed and lone, 
Discouraged by an undertone 
Of sadness, not by right my own, 

Could fly to one like thee, 
Whatever ills might mark my lot, 
I'd bear in resignation, wrought 
Of hope-inspiring counsel fraught 

With love and sympathy. 

Oh, thought-environed mystery! 

Because of my perplexity, 

The day's sweet grace is lost to me ; 

Thou hovering entity ! 
Why dost thou coyly veil thy face, 
And hide securely every trace 
That leadeth to thy dwelling-place, 

And thy identity ? 



TO ONE UNKNOWN. 69 

Why may I not, dear angel true, 
Entreat from thee my rightful due, 
Just one delightful interview? 

So long I've pondered o'er 
What ever led thee to commence, 
Without the slightest recompense, 
A course of true beneficence 

At my unworthy door. 

Assured of thy sincere regard, 

I should be happy, were life marred 

By Fortune's buffets, rude and hard : 

Be blest were I untaught, 
Obscure, devoid of courtesy, 
To win from one 1 know must be 
All goodness and urbanity 

So oft a friendly thought. 

I've sketched thee, often and again, 

Upon the tablet of my brain, 

And there the picture must remain 

As long as life shall last. 
For Mem'ry's hand, though thou art gone, 
Shall kindly, ever and anon, 
Bring back the image, fancy drawn, 

When fleeting years have passed. 



70 POEMS. 

Perchance we ne'er shall mingle here 
In thought, or drop a grief -ful tear 
Together o'er a common bier, 

Or recreate in mirth; 
Then may we clasp each other's hand 
Within the borders of that land, 
Where we shall meet and understand 

The mvsterics of earth. 



But yesterday the gayest throng 

That ever sojourned by the sea, 
Witli billows wrestled, brave and strong, 
Or shone in festal halls, where song 
And minuet held revelry. 

O'er watery courses flying yachts, 

Competitors fraternal, sped ; 
Their "logs'' recording wondrous knots, 
Till, far from view, but meager dots 

The overstraining vision led. 

But crafty shark and monster whale 

May now disport where these have been, 
Unterrified by gay taffrail 
Of pleasure-craft whose pennon sail 

Some landsman's hand hath gathered in. 



WATCH HILL. 71 

But yesterday the invalid, 

As gazing o'er the sea's expanse, 
Would fain have made his grave amid 
Its mysteries, forever hid 

From cold unsympathetic glance. 

Beneath as lovely sunset skies 

As Oriental lands may claim, 
Chance lovers breathed regretful sighs 

That ere another morn should rise, 
The parting word their lips must frame. 

To-day, where are the multitude 
From Earth's remotest corners met. 

Who followed each capricious mood 

That restless fancy might obtrude, 
As whimsical as gay coquette? 

All, all are fled, deserted now 

Are sea and shore and glistening bay ; 
Forsaken Watch Hill's lonely brow- 
Confronts the elements that bow 
To none but their Creator's sway. 

In solitude one walks the shore 

But yesterday by thousands trod, 
And with a thrill unknown before 
In Ocean's smile and Ocean's roar, 

Beholds the majesty of God. 



72 POEMS. 

€J)c 4M& burping aBrounti* 

an old, old place it is, 

Landmark of the centuries ! 

Damp with mold, and dark with shade 
As secluded cloisters where, 

Screened by stately colonnade, 

Holy monks devotions paid ; 
Or upon mosaics bare 
Vestal virgins knelt in prayer. 

Hidden in the very heart 

Of the busy bustling mart, 

"Where Life's ever-surging tide, 
Restless as the mighty sea, 

Scarce its ripples doth divide ; 

Save perchance when one aside 
Turns from curiosity, 
Some ancestral tomb to see. 

Oldest habitant knows not 
First when this sequestered spot 
Broken by the sexton's spade 
Place of sepulture became ; 
Knoweth not if man or maid 
In its primal cell was laid — 
So, in Death, dissolveth fame 
And the prestige of a name. 



THE OLD BURYING GROUND. 73 

Under those columnar trees 
May not aborigines, 

Sachems of their dusky clan, 

Pow-wow counselors, have let 
Hatred of the pale-faced man 
Circumvent all peaceful plan — 

Or their malice to forget 

Smoked the fragrant calumet ? 

Native traders may have come 
Bartering wampum-shells for rum — 

Or in lieu of ready cash 

Tendered baneful nicotine ; 
Drinking from the calabash 
Fire-water, making rash 

Promises that sequel-seen, 

Proved them treacherous and mean. 

Here our sires beneath the sod — 
Blest reposure ! — " rest in God " ; 

So we read upon the stones 

Crumbling, leaning out of place, 
Moldering like sepulchered bones, 
Tottering like terrestrial thrones, 

While the saints whose names we trace 

Stand before the Father's face. 
7 



74 POEMS. 

%n iUnticrgrounti Stream, 

What hand, in ages long ago, 

subterranean river, 
Restricted thus thy overflow, 

And fixed thy bounds forever ? 

Why hidest thou in solitude ? 

Has some dark deed of slaughter, 
Outcome of rash, despairing mood, 

Stained thy pellucid water ? 

Within thy gloomy chiseled walls 
Thy current roars and hisses 

With maddening swiftness, till it falls 
In deep and dark abysses. 

No painted ship has ever crossed 
The channel where thou flowest — 

No summer's sun, nor winter's frost 
Nor autumn fair thou knowest ! 

No dropping flower-petals sweet 
Thy bosom ever freighted — 

Thy rapid flow no truant feet 
Have idly penetrated ! 



FANNIE. 75 

Thy coolness never slaked the thirst 
Of deer, pursued and panting, — 

Returning traveler ne'er rehearsed 
A tale of thee enchanting! 

No memory to thee recurs 

Of merry sons and daughters — 

Of gay picnicking revelers 
Encamped beside thy waters ! 

Nor time nor season shalt thou know 

In thy dark habitation, 
As age on age shall come and go, 

And nation follow nation. 

The centuries have riveted 

Thy rock-ribbed walls around thee, 

And to thy adamantine bed 
Eternity hath bound thee. 



fannic. 

We dressed her in her bridal robes 

Of filmy texture rare, 
And orange blossoms gaily twined 

Amid her shining hair ; 
As in the joy of festal hours, 

Serene with hope and pride, 
We sent her forth in life's sweet morn, 

A loved and happy bride. 



7 Li POEMS. . 

A few short months, there came a day 

When up the village street 
A strange procession wound its way, 

And hearts in sadness beat ; 
For Fannie dear came back to us 

By floral offerings hid, 
In wedding garments, as before, 

But 'neath her coffin lid. 

" There is a Reaper," sang the choir, 
" Whose name is Death." How clear 
Rang out the hymn, in solemn chant, 

Above her snow-white bier ! 
And Bible words were read about 

The New Jerusalem, 
Where God transplants our fairest flower! 
As He hath need of them. 

A sadder welcome ne'er was given 

To one whose merry voice, 
As though it were but yesterday, 

Made all our hearts rejoice. 
A grave upon the sunny hill, 

A dear, familiar spot, 
Received the form that once was full 

Of life, and love, and thought. 



ALONE. 77 

It seems as though a bird had flown, 

And its forsaken nest 
Is that sad home, so brief a time 

By her sweet presence blest ; 
But, sorrow-stricken and bereft, 

To Heaven we raise our eyes, 
Where she, with angel plumage on, 

Now sino-s in Paradise. 



mom. 

The clays are so long and so dreary to me, 

In solitude wrapped like a pall, 
I wish Heaven would send me some comforting friend, 

Who would lovingly answer my call. 

My heart is o'erburdened with sorrow and care, 

My life is enshrouded in gloom ; 
I would that some light from that Heaven so bright 

My desolate way would illume. 

I thought, in the happy, bright days of my youth, 

This world was made only for me ; 
But how changed it appears now, as seen through my 
tears 

How gloomy and sad it would be. 

7* 



78 POEMS. 

" The waters encompass me ! " — ready to sink, 

I utter this agonized prayer, 
That my bark, tempest-tossed, be not utterly lost 

Beneath the dark waves of despair. 

I read of the saints and the martyrs of old, 
Who so valiantly fought the good fight, 

And received their reward from the hands of their 
Lord, 
A crown in that land of delight. 

And 1 long for the faith that takes hold upon God, 
When the swift-surging billows roll by, 

That can look up and sing, while I trustfully cling- 
To the Rock that is higher than I. 

I long for that tranquil and undisturbed rest, 
When doubts and forebodings shall cease, 

And when God shall impart to my sorely-tried heart 
The sweet consolation of peace. 



4Ddc to ectropion. 

My lord ! the laurels thou dost wear 
By favor of a queen's command, 

Around our brow we would not dare 
To twine, nor from the royal hand 

Accept emoluments that bear 

Thine ancient, honored peerage brand. 



ODE TO TENNYSON. 79 

For Pegasus lends not his aid 

To ns — so prodigal to thee 
That thou dost revel, undismayed, 

On pinnacles of poesy, 
Whose far-off strains thy name have made 

A synonym for mystery. 

prince of modern oracles ! 

Why speakest thou, in occult lore, 
Inscrutable, deep parables, 

That we have pondered o'er and o'er, 
And owned, in lucid intervals, 

That never thus spake man before ? 

Great laureate ! across the sea, 

A worshiper in foreign land, 
We lift our eyes admiringly, 

And offer our fraternal hand ; 
Although thy freaks of fancy free, 

Alas ! we do not understand. 

But, since we cannot reach thy heights, 

Thou bard of rich experience ! 
Nor feel the rapture that incites 

Thy marvelous magniloquence, 
Come down, from thy aerial flights, 

To unpretending, humble sense ! 



80 POEMS. 

Write one delightful lyric, sung 
In language so direct and plain 

That it shall move our facile tongue 
To glibness it cannot restrain, 

And that shall linger long among 
The cherished treasures of our brain. 

Descend to common folk, like us, 
Soar not above the brilliant sun, 

Be sympathizing, chivalrous, 

To those who have not glory won ; 

Thou poet peer magnanimous, 
dim, mysterious Tennyson ! 



The fairest flowers of all I see, 
Whose fragrance sweet is wafted me, 
Are those which crown the apple-tree ; 
In calyx red, with petals white, 
The lily and the rose unite 
To render each a lovely sight. 

Beneath the apple-tree I stand, 
My cheek by zephyrs softly fanned, 
As sweet as winds from Ceylon's land ; 
While rose-crowned boughs above me sway 
To every spring-bird's joyous lay 
That wakes to song the breath of May. 



APPLE BLOSSOMS. 81 

The violets, that star their bed 
With eyes of azure hue, are led 
To view the gorgeous scene o'erhead ; 
Where clusters rich of pink and white 
The breezes woo by day and night, 
With whisperings of pure delight. 

'Mid glowing warmth of noon-day skies 
The bee from out his prison flies, 
And, provident, seeks his supplies 
From honeyed cells of blooming things ; 
And while he loads his dusky wings 
With sweetest nectar, gayly sings. 

While buds are to perfection wrought, 
A song, with tender memories fraught, 
Just sings itself into my thought, 
Of a half-forgotten apple-bough. 
That blossomed once as these do now, 
And shaded oft my fevered brow. 

apple blooms ! the lips are gone 
That sang of you one golden dawn, 
But, fresh and sweet, ye still bloom on 
And all the air with perfume fill ; 
And with your beauty hearts shall thrill 
When the voice that praises you is still. 



82 POEMS. 

Pansies, pansies everywhere ! 

Just one blooming acre — 
Single, double, dark, and fair, 
Reigning favorites, their parterre 
Recompensing skill and care 

Of some pansy-maker. 

Innocent and saucy-eyed, 

Looking straight to heaven, 
Some are standing close beside 
Others drooping, mortified, 
As if to their conscious pride 
Rude rebuff were given. 

One there is that looks to me, 
Tall and slim and speckled, 

Like a true facsimile 

Of a female that I see 

Every clay, a spinster she, 
Angular and freckled. 

Still another, dewy wet, 

Pink, with edges golden, 
Like grandmother's china set, 
Given to her namesake pet 
Years ago ; she has it yet, 
Heirloom quaint and olden. 



PANSIE8. 83 

Every color 'neath the sun ! 

In each fair creation 
Seems a miracle were done, 
While we slumbered, by some one, 
But the florist answers, " None ! 

Only cultivation." 

Pansies in the market sold, 

Gathered from the valleys ; 
Royal texture like the old- 
Fashioned velvet marigold. 
Petals lapping, fold on fold, 

Round each fragrant chalice. 

Hearts-ease on a placque I see, 

Artist Laura painted ; 
Talent of a high degree, 
Real pansy-gift, hath she, 
And with fame will doubtless be 

Very soon acquainted. 

Pansy blossoms in my room, 

Making me sad-hearted ; 
For I saw their purple bloom 
And inhaled their sweet perfume 
Once above a little tomb, 

In the years departed. 



84 POEMS. 

Eyes of blue that softly beamed 

Had that angel sister ; 
Golden hair like sunlight gleamed 
In her coffin, and it seemed 
That of her we always dreamed, 
And forever missed her. 



The poets all their lyres attune 
To sing of leafy, goldon June 
When Nature dons her gala dress, 
And crowns the earth with loveliness ; 
But, sweltering with fervent heat 
That in July is hard to beat, , 
They all with one accord deny 
There 's any beauty in July. 

Why, in July the world's aglow 
With richer tints, a grander show 
Than ever yet awoke their praise 
For June's entrancing, radiant days ! 
For flower, and leaf, and everything 
Reflects the promise of the Spring, 
And June's incipient plan and thought 
July has to perfection wrought. 



THE SHEPHERDS OF JUDEA. 85 

The bright mid-day of all the year — 
Its radiator — now is here, 
Arrayed in hues of deepest dyes ; 
Oh, for the power to crystallize 
Into an icicle, and cling — 
A humid, pensile, cooling thing — 
To some old roof-tree while July, 
In burning splendor, passes by ! 



€J)C J>IjcpJ)crti£ of 'Juliea. 

O favored people ! just as bright 

The halo round their name to-day 
As when they watched their flocks by night 

While in the manger Jesus lay ; 
When from the skies an angel-throng 

Looked down upon the wondrous scene, 
And in exultant, choral song 

Awoke the hills of Palestine. 

These shepherd-men exemplified 

True kindliness in word and look ; 
And called their sheep unto their side, 

And in their arms the lambkins took 
So gently that beyond a doubt 

As loving, tender hearts were theirs 
As ever poured their fullness out 

In honest, earnest, humble prayers. 

8 



86 POEMS. 

No harshness moved the patient lip, 

No hand e'er dealt a cruel blow, 
For care and long companionship 

Of gentle things had made them so ; 
And yet, if near their precious fold 

Might danger lurk in cave or den — 
Rapacious beast, or robber bold — 

They could be stern like other men. 

The fleecy covering of their flocks 

Became their own, while flowing hair 
In unconfined, uncared-for locks 

Surrounding foreheads bronzed and bare, 
And patriarchal beard that fell 

Upon each weather-beaten breast, 
The story plainly seemed to tell 

No thought of self their minds distressed. 

What theme inspired their social talk ? 

For naught could be the world to them, 
The circuit of whose daily walk 

But girt the plains of Bethlehem ; 
In palaces and works of art, 

And scenes of revelry approved 
By royalty, they bore no part — 

Nor envyings their spirits moved. 



THE SHEPHERDS OF JUDEA. 87 

And if perchance they ever heard 

Of pompous king or glittering court, 
Or felt the passing interest stirred 

By pageantry of armed cohort — 
Contented, peaceful sons of Earth ! — 

They wondered, when the crests were gone, 
How life the living could be worth 

So diametric to their own. 

Perchance on some celestial night 

Delicious, clear, though wanting stars, 
When moonbeams poured their mellow light 

Though olive-boughs in silver bars, 
Recounted one in sympathy 

How briers held some bleating lamb 
Till his the hand that set it free, 

Restored it to its frantic dam. 

Or of a hungry lion bold 

That overleaped the rugged wall 
And seized the firstling of the fold, 

The choicest jewel 'mong them all ; 
When to the rescue swiftly came 

Those ever-faithful servitors 
Which, though a pedigree might claim, 

Appeared but gaunt and savage curs. 



POEMS. 

So, in exterior, were they 

Scarce comelier than their shepherd-dogs 
Yet they revered the Sabbath-day 

And went up in the synagogues 
And heard the law, which they believed ; 

And gave to God their offerings, 
From whom a wisdom they received 

Surpassing far the lore of kings. 

shepherds ! on Judean plains 

Who sang your simple, pastoral songs 
And kept your vigils, earth contains 

A remnant yet to whom belongs 
That heritage of faith and trust, 

As nature pure and free from art, 
The child-like feeling that we must 

" Love God with all our mind and heart. : 

For echoes still that matchless strain, 

The symphony by seraphs sung, 
And thrills the world with its refrain 

Wherever joy hath found#a tongue ; 
From mountain-top and sunny vale, 

From desert waste and wooded glen 
Unnumbered throngs the tidings hail 

Of " Peace on Earth, Good-will to Men. " 



. THE SMELL OF GRAPES. S9 

£fyc ^mcll of 4Brapc£, 

Oh ! fine as musk, invisible, 

Impalpable — as odors are — 
Luxurious and wonderful 

As essence from those isles afar 
Where sweet araoraum, cinnamon, 

And all delicious spices grow, 
Is their perfume, for dew and sun 

And rain combine to make it so. 

And while beneath an autumn sky 

The atmosphere is redolent, 
Within my hammock long I lie, 

And breathe the grapes' unrivaled scentj 
Then close my eyes and dream I see, 

Beyond Atlantic's broad expanse, 
The vineyard slopes of Italy, 

Or vintages of happy France. 

Judea's hills before me rise, 

That " milk-and-honey " land renowned 
In Bible story, where the spies 

The famous "grapes of Eshcol" found. 
Upon the air of Palestine 

What must have been the burden great 
Of fragrance, equaling the mean 

Of their recorded size and weight! 



90 POEMS. 

I live a charming period o'er 

Of reveling in sunny Spain, 
And view, as from Gibraltar's shore, 

Her fields of waving golden grain ; 
Her castles, villas, fair coquettes, 

Her honest bourgeois, peasantry, 
And oh ! the sight one ne'er forgets — 

Her wine-producing husbandry. 

But, looking from my casement near, 

At ten o'clock, down in the shade, 
Instead of some gay cavalier 

To charm me with a serenade, 
What are those figures, one by one, 

With stealthy steps and ragged shapes ? 
Why, by "the smell" I might have known 

They are the boys who steal my grapes ! 



Was ever such caloric spilt 

Upon the desert air ? 
Ere flaccid flesh shall further wilt, 
Oh, for a train, by Vanderb(u)ilt, 
To take us to those regions where 
The Esquimaux and polar bear 
Are reveling; in their frozen lair I 



MIDSUMMER. 91 

The greenest leaves are curling up, 

The streams are running dry, 
The marigold and buttercup 
Arc drooping, thirsting for a sup 

Of some refreshing balm, while I 

Am trying hard to smother my 

Anathemas, hot July ! 

The pavements arc like burning stones ; 

One hesitates to pass, 
For fear that fiesli and blood and bones, 
The real wealth a person owns, 

Will be transformed into a mass 

( >f radiance, like molten brass, 

Or vapor igneous as gas. 

My neighbors all their blinds have drawn, 

And closed the portal tight, 
And hid the hammock from the lawn — 
They hope to make me think they 've gone 

Down to the sea for pure delight ; 

But I just know — I have no spite — 

They 're in the back yard day and night. 

As milk will sour, so turncth fast 

My temper (never sweet) ; 
Uncertain 'tis how long will last 
Cftte metamorphose, but, when past, 



92 POEMS. 

Pray, what " corrective" shall I eat? 
For those experts who " can't be beat " 
Declare that sugar gives out heat. 

They 're putting on — how kind they are! 

For that excursion, drawing nigh, 
A big " refrigerator car," 
To take us down to Ocean Bar. 

Oh, packed in ice, how sweet to lie! 

If envious crowds were standing by, 

'T would be a luxury thus to die. 



%\\ <£))t£ot>c of tiyt ffiinJL 

A lovely minister was he, 
Endorsed by young and old, 

The doctor's pretty daughter she, 
And worth her weight in gold. 

A happy, handsome pair were they, 

Of wide and good renown, 
In popular diversions gay, 

Who fairly led the town. 

"Ma belle" said he, "maybe you'll think 
It highly hazardous, 
But seems to me the skating rink 
Is just the thing for us!" 



.I.Y EPISODE OF THE RINK 93 

No need of further argument; 

That very self-same day 
Unto the roller-place they went, 

To whirl their lives away. 

! Oh, what enchanting exercise ! 
It seems as though my soul 
Would float away to yonder skies, 
Defying all control." 

So spake the rapturous maiden, when, 

Like something out of gear, 
Two soles began to float just then 

In upper atmosphere. 

Did stumbling mortal ever yet 

Collapse, and crack his crown, 
Who did not drag as in a net 

Some fellow-creature down ? 

And so the novice who would cut 

A figure, when she can't, 
Not only " brings the house down," but 

Her own adored gallant. 

Of course, without a thought of harm, 

And quite in modern taste, 
His all-protecting dexter arm 

Was coiled around her waist. 



94 POEMS. 

So with a change of base, his toes 

Obliged to follow suit, 
Somehow brought round a broken nose, 

And a twisted leg — to boot. 

About that time the world was made 
Of crooked lightning-bars, 

Aud in the intervals displayed 
Were twenty million stars. 

A hapless, helpless pile they lay, 
Two hearts that beat as one 

In vowing ne'er again to pay 
So dearly, just for fun. 



Peaches, peaches ! everywhere 
See the tempting baskets stand^l 

Luscious fruit from Delaware, 
Ruddy cheeks from Maryland. 

Orchards of the sunny South, 
In surprising plentitude, 

Furnish freely every mouth 
Appetizing, dainty food. 



PEACHES. 95 

Peaches in the market stalls, 

readies vended on the street 
By the rogue who seldom hauls 

Peaches good enough to eat. 

Dealers a bonanza reap 

From the blushing favorites, 
While their cry of " Peaches cheap ! " 

Gathers in the silver bits. 

What delicious nectar pure 

Velvet cuticles enclose ! 
Pampered taste of epicure 

No more toothsome flavor knows. 

There are peaches tough as vice — 

Acrid as a sharp retort! 
Dear were they at half their price — 

And, besides, of measure short. 

Who is wise would rather tramp 
Weary miles than eat of these ; 

Colic, cholera, and cramp 
Lurk beneath their indices. 

What are peaches minus cream, 

Just enough to smother in ? 
Till the juicy quarters seem 

Buried isles of coralline. 



96 POEMS. 

Tender freestones, mellow clings, 
Nectarines without a scar — 

Every one a picture brings 
Of redundant groves afar, 

Where the languid natives lie 
Under peach-trees day by day, 

Visage looking to the sky — 

Picking peaches ? — No ! not they ! 

Waiting for the fruit to drop 

In each facial orifice ! 
Surely, plan for gathering crop 

Never labor saved as this. 

Peaches, peaches ! everywhere 

Trains are carrying thick and fast ! 

Luxuries that all may share 

Ere " peach-season " shall have passed. 



fltpp SDcar Jlieligiou£ $apci\ 

It always comes when I am blue, 
And oh ! the comfort in it ! 

I just perspire to read it through 
In less than half a minute. 



MY PEAR RELIGIOUS PAPER. 97 

A lovely sermon I commence 

About the " loaves and fishes" — 

Then drift into advertisements 
Of " Amberina " dishes. 

I read and re-peruse with care 

And heartily endorse it, 
An item telling how to wear 

" A skirt-supporting corset." 

I meditate, " How true it is, 

I am my brother's keeper ! " 
And lo ! behold where groceries 

Are sold a trifle cheaper. 

It bids my drooping spirits rise 

And, as to speak it louder, 
In capitals before my eyes 

Puts " Royal Baking Powder." 

There's one to whom I always go 
When weary and down-hearted — 

Dear " Lydia Pinkham ! " — just as though 
She never had departed. 

In simple trust when I would cling 

Unto the " Rock of Ages," 
I read that "Glue's" the proper thing — 

And " Vegetine " the rage is. 

9 



98 POEMS. 

And when for strength I humbly pray 

Some impish scion titters : 
" Why, don't you know, the papers say 
To try ' Red Jacket Bitters.' " 

I shudder at the thought of sin, 

Its fearful avalanches ; 
And then get interested in 

" Cow-boys and Cattle-ranches." 

I wish my life were more like Paul's — 

Devoted, nobler, truer — 
Then somehow get submerged in " Hall's 

Sicilian Hair Renewer." 

My aching heart suffused with grief 

Pulsates a little faster 
To know that there is sweet relief 

Beneath a " Porous Plaster." 

I read it through in every part, 

So serious and solemn, 
And then cut out and learn by heart 

That " awful funny " column. 

The times are hard — I cannot spare 
A dime — much less a dollar — 

But I must re-subscribe, and wear 
A shirt without a collar. 



A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION. 99 

Til vegetate on sauer kraut — 

Exist on airy vapor — 
But never, never do without 

"My dear religious paper." 



2E SDiffcrcncc of opinion* 

Before the pile of blazing logs 

A burgher in his kitchen sat, 
His feet upon the fire-dogs, 

His form encased in flaccid fat ; 
And sipped his toddy from the mug 

Whose foaming element was drawn 
From that familiar, earthen jug 

That topers live and thrive upon. 

A typic product of the land 

Whose scions hold forever dear 
The native, true, Teutonic brand 

Of sparkling ale and lager beer ; 
A jolly soul, like " Old King Cole," 

Of visage rubicund was he, 
Who loved his meerschaum and his bowl 

And boon companions' revelry. 



100 POEMS. 

The patient spouse who meekly shared 

His home and toil, but not his glee, 
The matutinal meal prepared 

With quiet, quaint dexterity ; 
But, while the smoking viands rolled 

Their odor out, a smothered sigh 
From her lymphatic partner told 

That Death, unbidden guest, was nigh. 



So, quickly sped the mystery ; 

While proximate inhabitants, 
Who preconceived how it would be, 

Met each to each with knowing glance ; 
And filled again the master's cup 

And sympathy and sorrow told ; 
And, while they drank its contents up, 

His relict tenderly consoled. 

The coroner and all his clique 

Sat on the body, just as if 
They meant to make the dead man speak 

And tell how he became so stiff' ; 
As happens oft when one is drowned 

The jurymen clear up the doubt 
By sitting on the body found — 

As if to squeeze the water out. 



"THE (TP THAT CHEERS." 101 

And thus they gave the cause of death ; 

The savants as with one accord 
Agreed " 'twas either want of breath, 

Or visitation from the Lord ! " 
The neighbors whispered " Too much^bcer}! " 

But we, more liberal inclined, 
Suggest with honesty sincere, 

" It might have been all three combined ?" 



u Zfyc €up tftat 4ttjccr£/ r 

Dear " Lib, " I shall not soon forget 
The pleasure of that day, 

And owe you one delicious debt 
I never hope to pay. 

To " resurrect " my coffee-pot 
Became my chief employ, 

And never yet was labor fraught 
With more abundant joy. 

It seemed to me a cruel age 
Since I had heard it boil 

With aromatic beverage 
That compensated toil. 
9* 



102 POEMS. 

I followed your directions through, 

Unto the "bitter end" — 
I mean, of course, the end in view — 

But you will comprehend. 

With cream as thick as " Patent glue," 
I mixed it, — half and half, — 

And thought of rare " ambrosial dew " 
Divinities might quaff. 

The miseries of other years, 

As if in an eclipse, 
Were hidden in "the cup that cheers" 

Whene'er it touched my lips. 

I drank your dear, delightful health 
In steaming fragrance sweet ; 

And had I any surplus wealth, 
I'd lay it at your feet. 

If my ship ever reaches shore, 
You shall be rightful heir, — 

When I have told my ducats o'er, — 
To all I have to spare. 

Don't let my generous projects, though, 
More brilliant prospects mar ; 
I merely thought you'd like to know 
What my intentions are. 



" THE CUP THAT CHEERS." 103 

A sad reflection, is it not, 

That one can scarce restrain, 
That pleasure, how or where 't isjsought, 

Is so allied to pain ? 

And so, while memory holds the cup 

From whence delight I drew, 
That hideous night that " used me~up, " 

Will be remembered, too. 

Oh ! ghosts of unforgiven crimes ! 

That dissipating draught, 
Ere morning dawned, a thousand times, 

I wished I'd never quaffed. 

I watched the clock, and every stroke 

I counted, until two — 
And faintly hoped, till daylight broke, 

I'd somehow " worry through." 

Nobody knows when it begun, 

But sleep I must have got, 
Because I dreamed the world was one 

Tremendous coffee-pot. 

I thought the mighty ocean wide, 

Was one enormous cup 
Of fragrant nectar — and I cried 

Because I'd drunk it up. 



104 POEMS. 

I 've learned, by dear experience, 
My duty now — and here's 

My latest vow — forever hence, 
To shun " the cup that cheers." 

Per favor of my haunting muse, 
This "wail of woe" I'vejpenned, 

And trust your goodness to excuse 
The freedom of — A Friend. 



griping ti)t $oor, 

A comely Hoosier maid was she, 
Bewitching, fair, and adipose ; 

In anecdote and repartee 

Amusing, witty, and verbose. 

A package came to her address — 
We opened it by candlelight — 

Whose contents we but dared to guess, 
While she declared "'twas dynamite." 

But, no ; in smiling rows there lay 
The masterpiece of dental skill, 

As we supposed, in every way 
Designed according to her will. 



HELPING THE POOR. 105 

Deceitful teeth were hid before 

Behind her honest crimson lips, 
Like seeds within a melon core, 

And brown as Saratoga chips. 

But this, the whitest ivory set, 

The kind that grows upon the trees — 

Oh ! not the set, we quite forget — 

The bone, the stuff, or, what you please. 

But, ah ! the skilled artificer 

Had lost his pattern or his tools ; 

For, as it proved, they never were 
Cut out by wisdom's simple rules. 

" The bungling craftsman is insane," 

Said she, " or else southwest by south ; 
And when I seek his den again, 

I'll make him look down in the mouth ! " 

She tried them on — that is to say, 
She tried them in ; they would n't fit, 

When, never daunted, ever gay, 
Her mind conceived this happy hit. 

'T was in that time when, o'er the land, 
Long-legged insects had devoured 

All verdure green on every hand — 

Yea, everything that leaved or flowered. 



106 POEMS. 

The dearth of crops that far and wide 
Impoverished many a household place,. 

Discouraged farmers sorely tried, 
And famine stared them in the face. 

When from a nation's affluence ran 
Abundant streams of kindliness, 

Relieving many a hapless man, 
And saving families from distress. 

So, to our friend this thought arose, 
Amid our laughter, unrepressed : 
" I b'lieve I'll send my teeth to those 
Grasshopper sufferers out West ! "" 



Crescent $5cady. 

O Crescent Beach ! That day shall be- 
A treasured one in memory, 
That lured me from my distant home, 
Upon thy lovely shores to roam ; 

To linger, with enraptured glance 
O'er ocean's limitless expanse, 
Half-wishing that, before my eyes^ 
Fair Aphrodite might arise, 



CRESCENT BEACH. 107 

'Or, from their hidden, watery cells 
In myriad rainbow-colored shells, 
Nereides, with dripping locks, 
Might grace the rough, Neptunian rocks, 

Defying, in their revelry, 
That ancient monarch of the sea, 
Wtiose trident marks his lordly reign 
O'er every creature of the main. 

I watched the countless-dimpled smile 
Illuminate thy waters, while 
The wish, unconscious, half-expressed, 
That I might find therein sweet rest. 

I'd just as soon, beneath the wave 
Return my life to Him who gave, 
Or let my bones forever bleach 
Upon the sands of Crescent Beach. 

Throughout the years, each breaking wave 
Should be a tear-drop o'er my grave, 
And every scintillating gem 
Unite to sing my requiem. 

Of Him who taught beside the sea 
Of ever-blessed Galilee, 
His true disciples meet to teach 
-Beside the waves at Crescent Beach. 



108 POEMS. 

Resounding voices on the shore 
Commingle with the ocean's roar, 
And wonderful sweet harmonies 
Are caught by every passing breeze. 

The fragrant, flower-besprinkled sod 
Re-echoes prayer and praise to God ; 
And Crescent Beach, in beauty crowned, 
Becomes enchanted, hallowed ground. 

They who the Saviour's name revere 
Shall here unite from year to year, 
Till o'er our land the fame shall reach 
Of Christians met at Crescent Beach. 




1. ; V,v,-;, 



HHHHHI 

IK 
iiimk 




